Sometimes it is just so hard to not assume a position much like an NFL running back in the end zone, bending one's legs exaggeratedly, waggling one's butt and quite possibly raising one's arms up in the air in obvious victory and shouting, "I SO TOLD YOU SO!"
Like today when the doctor told my husband he has pneumonia.
Yes. Pneumonia.
He's had this stuff since we got back from Disney World and kept refusing to see the doctor even though he FINALLY had insurance for the first time in like, 6 years. Oh no....we mustn't squander that $20 co-pay on things like medical care. We must spend it on numerous bottles of Mucinex, Mucous Relief, Mucous Blast!, Mucous Free, Mucous-B-Gone or whatever else some helpful customer at the casino had told him to get when they heard him hacking his lungs up right there on the playing floor. We're going to have to get a bigger medicine cabinet now, but there should be no mucous in sight.
Ah....but now he is blissfully sleeping the night away thanks to the narcotically enhanced cough syrup coursing through his veins.
I *heart* the controlled substance sitting in the little brown bottle on the kitchen counter right now.
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